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We pulled up to Maxine Reed’s house. The outside of the small, brick home was well taken care of. The lawn was manicured and creatively landscaped.
I got my first glimpse of Maxine when Ida Belle, Gertie, and I approached the front door, which was already open. She’d heard us coming and was waiting. She smiled, introduced herself to me, and invited us in. The inside of the house was as impeccably cared for as the outside. The furniture was older and dated but in pristine condition. The walls were textured and painted in tasteful earth tones.
She had a tea setting laid out for us ahead of time. Maxine herself was an extension of the home she kept. She was a handsome woman of about sixty-five. Her hair was dyed red and styled—every hair was in place. Her makeup was tasteful and light. She looked to be dressed for town. It was possible she dressed up just for our visit but I didn’t think so. Maxine Reed appeared to be a woman of routine and that routine included her to be looking her best at all times.
She invited us to sit and began pouring tea. “I’m so excited for Cindy Lou,” she said.
“We are, too,” I replied.
“She’s been Sinful’s Election Coordinator for a long time. There has never been any recognition for her efforts,” Maxine continued.
“Well, we’re happy this recognition . . . uh, came along,” Ida Belle said.
“I must admit I’ve never heard of this award,” Maxine said.
“It’s new,” Ida Belle replied.
“Yes, very new,” Gertie affirmed.
“Tell me about the selection process,” Maxine asked.
Ida Belle blinked, “It’s . . . complicated.”
“Thank you for the tea. It’s lovely,” I interjected. “We don’t want to take up too much time from your busy day. Let’s get started, shall we?”
“Yes, of course,” Maxine said.
I pulled out a notebook and pen, and asked permission to take notes.
“Now, why don’t you tell us what you know about Cindy Lou?” I said, sounding as though I actually cared about what I’d just asked to hear.
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom, dear?” Gertie asked.
“Oh, of course,” she replied. “It’s down the hall to the right, just before you get to the master bedroom.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Gertie said. “Don’t wait on me. Go ahead and get started.”
Maxine began to eloquently articulate the attributes of Sinful’s Election Coordinator. She made Cindy Lou sound more like a combination of Mother Theresa and Madam Curie, rather than a small-town public servant. I listened patiently and pretended to take notes, careful to raise my notebook high. I didn’t want her to see that I was actually doodling.
I waited for an opportunity to interject something about Emma. It took some time, given that Maxine had obviously prepared a lot of things to say about Cindy Lou. Finally, however, I found an opening.
“You know, Maxine,” I began, “you and I have a common acquaintance.”
She paused and raised her eyebrows, “Oh really? Who might that be?”
“Emma Peterson.”
Her facial expression changed. I looked carefully for signs of concern or shock, but instead, all I saw was sadness—genuine sadness.
“Oh, that poor dear woman,” she said. “I was so saddened to hear of her passing.”
“We all were.”
“Wait a minute,” Maxine said, “Are you the sweet young woman who brought her books every month?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Oh, my dear, she loved you so much. She spoke very highly of you. She so looked forward to your visits.”
“Did you know her well?” I asked.
“No, not really,” she said. “I just met her a short while ago at the nursery in Thibodaux. I was getting to know her, slowly but surely.”
She didn’t try to oversell the friendship, I thought.
“The nursery? Really?”
“Yes, she and I share a love for gardening,” Maxine explained. “I saw her one day at the nursery. We were both looking at the peonies and struck up a conversation. That’s when I saw her trying to carry three plants onto the bus back to Sinful. She didn’t drive or own a car. I offered to drive her home.”
“That was very generous of you,” I said.
“All I have these days, is time, dear,” she said.
“Pardon me, Maxine,” Ida Belle said. “Do you happen to have some 2% milk instead of cream?”
“Oh, of course,” she said. “It’s in the fridge. I’ll get it.”
“No, no,” Ida Belle said. “I know my way around a kitchen. You two talk. I’ll be right back. You all go ahead, continue talking.”
Ida Belle walked into the kitchen. I smiled at Maxine. She smiled back.
“It sounds like you two hit it off,” I said, picking up where I’d left off.
“Oh, we did indeed,” Maxine said. “After we met, we started having lunch once a week at Francine’s. We’d make a day of it. I’d drive her to the general store, the doctor, her tax office . . . wherever she wanted to go.”
“My, that was nice of you,” I said.
“Oh, we were both widows,” Maxine said. “As I said, I have a lot of time on my hands—so does she . . . well, she did. She didn’t drive—it made getting around difficult for her. I didn’t mind at all.”
I heard a loud noise coming from the direction of the bathroom.
“Gertie,” Maxine called out. “Is everything okay in there?”
“Yes, no problem!” Gertie replied. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
We heard another loud banging noise. “Fiddlesticks!” Gertie yelled.
“Are you sure you’re okay in there?” Maxine called out.
“Oh, I’m fine . . . fine,” Gertie called back.
“So, you said you took Emma to the tax office?” I repeated. “Is that the office of Mark Baker?”
“Why yes, it was,” she said. “He’s my accountant, too.”
“Didn’t you find it odd that she visited her tax accountant this time of year? We are near the end of summer—it’s not really tax season. I wonder why she wanted to go there?”
Maxine shrugged, looking genuinely perplexed, “I’m not certain. I sat in the waiting area while they went into the office. I didn’t ask or think to—I didn’t give it much thought. You’re right though, it is odd.”
She smiled at me. Maxine’s body language was not what you’d expect from a person who was feeling threatened in any way by the conversation. She seemed completely at ease.
“I was just so shocked to hear about her passing,” I continued. “I had just seen her last week. When did you last see her?”
“Hmmm,” she said, reflecting. “It would have been Wednesday, last week. We did some shopping at the nursery and had lunch in Thibodaux.”
I decided it was time to see if I could place her at Emma’s house on Friday night.
“Oh, when I saw Emma last, I thought she mentioned she was entertaining a visitor on Friday evening,” I said. “Was that you?”
“Oh no,” she replied, emphatically. “Friday night is Bridge night with the girls. I invited Emma more than once to come but she said she wasn’t really ready for that kind of social activity.”
Gertie came back into the room, followed closely by Ida Belle.
The three of us exchanged pleasantries once again before I closed my folder and stood.
“Maxine,” I said. “It’s been a real pleasure. I have everything I need.”
“When is the awards ceremony?” she wondered.
“Huh?”
She looked at me blankly, “The ceremony—the one where you are honoring Cindy Lou, of course.”
“Oh, the awards ceremony!” I repeated loudly. I laughed nervously. “Sorry, I took a mental trip to the Bahamas. The ceremony is happening . . . uh. . .”
“We don’t have a date yet,” Ida Belle said. “But we’re hoping to schedule a time in the near future.”
“Near future?” Maxine said. “I thought it might be happening right away.”
“You know how these things are,” Ida Belle said. “They require very careful planning—down to the last detail.”
“Well, I guess so,” she replied.
“In the interim,” Gertie interjected, “it is very important that Cindy Lou is not told anything about this. When you get up on that stage to present the award, we want it to be a huge surprise.”
“Oh, absolutely!” Maxine replied, emphatically. “My lips are sealed.”
“Good,” Ida Belle said. “Oh, by the way, when I was in the kitchen, I took a peek out of the window at your lovely garden. You and Emma really did share a love of flowers and plants. That must take up a lot of your time.”
“It does,” she said. “Come, let me show it to all of you before you go.”
Maxine’s garden was beautiful, more beautiful than Emma’s even. It would be easy to see that she and Emma found common ground and formed a bond over gardening. There were so many flowers and plants that she had in common with Emma. It was easy to tell they had been shopping at the same nursery together.
“My goodness, this garden is stunning,” Ida Belle said. “Do you mind if I take pictures of it with my cell?”
“Oh, please do,” Maxine said.
Ida Belle began snapping pictures.
“Well, we should probably go,” Gertie said. “We should let Maxine have the rest of her day.”
“Of course, you’re right,” I agreed. Maxine smiled.
“Well, thank you again, Maxine,” I said, extending my hand. “It was a real pleasure meeting you.”
The three of us walked to the car in silence.
“Well, that was a waste,” Gertie sighed, once we were back on the road. “The medicine cabinet had nothing odd in it. For a woman her age, she doesn’t even have all the normal pills for aches and pains. There is no home office in the house. No diary on the bookcase or bed stand. I don’t think she even owns a computer.”
“There was a calendar in the kitchen,” Ida Belle noted. “It had dates marked for lunch with Emma, just like she said. Nothing else. I also looked under her cabinets for any unusual chemicals. There was nothing.”
“Maxine Reed had nothing to do with Emma’s murder,” I said.
“Really?” Ida Belle replied. “You’re sure?”
“If she did, she is the best actress in the world,” I replied. “She was cool as a cucumber—not the least bit intimidated or nervous that we were there. When Emma’s name came up, there was no surprise or personal concern on her face. All her answers made sense.”
“Did you find out where she was on Friday night?” Gertie asked.
“Yes,” I told her. “She said she has a regular Bridge game that night.”
“That was on her calendar as well,” Ida Belle added.
“We should follow up. I know Irma Shlarp,” Gertie said. “She plays in that Bridge game. I’ll call her and find out if Maxine was really there playing cards.”
“Yes, it will be good to tie up that loose end,” I said. “I’m willing to bet she was there, though. If she was playing cards that night, it would pretty much rule her out.”
Ida Belle was flipping through the pictures she had taken of Maxine’s garden, “You know, I think this garden is even lovelier than Emma’s,” Ida Belle commented.
“They’re similar in many ways,” Gertie said, looking at the photos over Ida Belle’s shoulder.
“They shopped at the same nursery,” Ida Belle noted.
“That’s true,” Gertie said. “What’s that beautiful flower, there? Is that purple or blue?”
“I’d say it was more of a blue. It’s lovely.”
I was curious, “Let me see.”
Ida Belle held up her phone and showed it to me, “It is beautiful. I don’t remember seeing that in Emma’s garden.”
My mind began to wander as Ida Belle and Gertie continued to speculate about the flower. I was disappointed that the trip didn’t bear fruit. I was hoping Victor and Bessie had better luck than I.